


Where did it go wrong?

by i_elektron



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All Characters slightly OOC, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya-centric, BAMF Arya Stark, I mean why would Rheagar do that??, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Load of diff povs tho, Multi, Probs gonna be a realllly long fic, a mix between show and books, but I’ll try to keep them as canon as I can, but he is not called Aegon, cuz uno season 7 and 8 were yeah, shes freaking amazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 09:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20337718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_elektron/pseuds/i_elektron
Summary: What if Arya became the beautiful woman we all know she will be earlier? What if at court she was noticed as much as her sister? How would it change the great game of thrones?





	1. Daughter of the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey... this is my first ever piece of fanfiction, and I’m really nervous cuz I have never done anything like this before. If you don’t like it I’m sorry, I hate to waste your time. But if you do like it, well yay. This fic is probably going to be really long, so be prepared for a bit of scene setting for the first few chapters before the fun really starts. U can only build a skyscraper on solid foundations so please stick around. I’ve had this idea for a while, shortly after finding Ao3, only yesterday I decided to create an account and start to writing so yeah. Enjoy I guess!

Arya, aged 10 (299 AC) 

“Another one!” Someone called out to her, a hopeful voice amongst the crowd of children gathered around her. “Another?” She ponders out loud, half teasing. 

It was getting late, she thought, her father would be wondering where she was, well more like what she was doing.He always seemed to know where she was or at least had an idea.

“Oh please!” A chorus of voices echoed, “Just one more!”.

Arya loved her people, she enjoyed the company of the smallfolk much more than that of most nobles, with they’re fancy clothing and overly polished courtesies. Here, she was just another friend; somebody else to play with, not a helpless, simpering lady, batting her eyelashes at any handsome lord that happened to be passing by.

More often than not she sought out her friends in Wintertown, the sons and daughters of bakers, labourers and farmers, playing with and telling them stories until she was made to go home.

“Okay, but only one..” She relented, she could never deny their happiness, not when they gave her their friendship in return. Over the years the people had grew use to the presence of their lords daughter amongst their children, when one day, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, she shyly asked to play.

Being so young the girl had no understanding to her station, what it meant for a highborn lady like her to play with the children of peasants.

It didn’t matter how many times she was taken home to the old castle, about an hour after arriving, the young wolf always seemed to find her way back to the town, back to her newly found friends.

One day, the lord himself came to find where his wayward daughter went, only to smile softly when he stumbled upon her telling some story about Bran the Builder. One she must have learned from listening to that of her brothers history lessons, sat on the well surrounded by enraptured children.

The Lady Arya was never again dragged back to Winterfell, spending most of her spare time within the streets. 

Out of all of their lords children, Arya Stark was the one they loved the most.

The child was wild and wilful, full of the blood of the wolf, and northerner through and through. She was the only one of her siblings to carry the Stark look- snowy skin, dark hair and grey eyes.

The girl was kind hearted, often bringing cakes from the kitchens of Winterfell to share.

She was brave and clever, the daughter of the north was loved by the nobles and common folk alike. 

“What would you like to hear?” She asked, her voice melodic, she loved stories, especially those of old. Stories of conquests and war, battles fought for honour and glory.

She always wanted to be a knight, a childish dream, she chided herself.

Arya knew who she was, she knew her role and what it meant, she had accepted it, albeit reluctantly. But her acceptance didn’t mean she had to be happy about it or make it easier for her mother.

“What about the Wall?” A small voice asked slightly to her right, “The Wall?...Okay then.” Where to begin, she pondered “The wall was built thousands of years ago by Bran the Builder, my ancestor. It is said that after the War for the Dawn, when the Others were defeated, he raised the Wall with the help of the Children of the Forest and Giants, so the that the Others may never return. Some say that spells were woven into the Wall, to stop it from ever falling, that the magic is so strong, nothing could ever tear it down.”

She was met with awestruck expressions, the wonder that spilled from the eyes of her friends always seemed to fill her with warmth.

The little joy she was able to give them making her feel impossibly happy, no matter how awful her morning lessons that day had been.

The sound of galloping hooves soon rang within the streets and looking up, Arya could see the cause of the noise.

A tall figure, shrouded in an old but durable cloak pulled up his gelding sharply, his newly deepening voice calling to her. “It’s getting awfully late, it’s time you came home Arya.”

Looking upon his face, so similar to her own, she could only beam. Dropping all pretences, she ran, giving him only enough time to jump from the back of his mount to catch her as she leapt into his arms.

Her laughter was joined by his, as she wove her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

Jon Snow

“Your mother has been looking for you, little sister, have you been here all day?” He questioned, already mostly sure of the answer.

“Not ALL day…” she replied looking down, “I couldn’t bear my sewing lessons any longer, I had to escape, otherwise…” the look of frustration plain on her Stark features made his heart pull, it wasn’t fair for Arya to have to endure the lessons she hated so.

“Otherwise what little sister?” He asked again only this time unsure of what her answer may be, “Otherwise, I may have stabbed Sansa with my sewing needle.”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, or the breezy chuckle that escaped. Her stormy grey eyes streaked with repent met his, and, sensing his amusement quickly brightened, she began to giggle softly along with him.

“Oh, sister, whatever is father going to do with you?” This time she didn’t answer, only tightened her arms around his neck.Similarly he crushed her to his chest, “And why may is ask little wolf, would you want to stab Sansa with a needle?”

She stiffened in his hold, pulling back so he could see her face again, although this time she looked sad, betrayed almost.

“What is it Arya, you can tell me?” She swallowed, her pain visible despite her trying to hide the fact, “It doesn’t matter, I’m just being stupid” she replied, trying but failing to sound nonchalant.

“Arya…” he tried again. She would tell him eventually she always did, they never could keep anything from each other.

Looking up to his eyes, he could see her hurt, it ached his heart. “She… she and Jeyne, they were talking about who they would like to marry, of how handsome and gallant all the knights must be and how they would like to be crowned queen on love and beauty.” Arya paused, avoiding his gaze once again, “I said not all knights are kind and honourable just because they are a knight, that she was silly to think so and that I would rather be riding a joust than be crowned. Then Jeyne said…” Arya froze looking sideways towards her friends, “She said what Arya?” But he thought he already knew.

“She said I would never be crowned queen of love and beauty, because I was a horse face, I was ugly and plain, and Sansa, she just laughed along with her.” He could see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Arya never cried, and it hurt him to see how Jeyne’s words and Sansa had affected her so.

He felt a deep hatred then, for the girls that had upset Arya, his sister who would always call him brother despite how many times her mother told her not to, or sat next to him no matter the number of not so subtle glances, encouraging her to move.

Arya was his favourite sibling, she never made him feel unwelcome. Always treating him as if he were a true born and not a bastard, unlike the rest of his family even if some did so unknowingly.

Despite his anger, it was the irony of Jeyne’s words that made him want to laugh.

Yes when she was young, Arya was no beauty, at the age of 7 he can remember her features looking almost, strange, small and thin.

But since, she had grown almost unbelievably. You could see the beginnings of womanly curves, only accentuated by her always thin waist and lean legs, her breasts and hips had began to show, even if she was only 11 and not yet flowered, her face once plain was now striking, inheriting her mothers Tully high cheekbones with Stark grey eyes and pale skin.

Sansa was pretty, undeniably so, with her auburn hair and blue eyes, tall with curves, truly a woman grown and flowered. But her beauty was southern. Their were many beauties in the south, and in comparison she would just be more of the same.

Arya though, her beauty was wild, so different and unique, one of a kind. He could remember not 3 months ago when the Lord Umber had come to Winterfell, once deep within his cups, he set his eyes upon Arya, arriving late as usual, and had turned to Ned and said “She looks almost exactly like her, it’s like seeing a ghost, it’s going to be hard for you to keep hold of her”.

Jon doubted he would ever forget the look upon his fathers face after hearing those words, fear and guilt and pain, mixed agonisingly together.

Jon loved Arya, as a brother loved a sister, but even he could see the woman she was becoming.

“They are wrong Arya, you are not ugly, you should not listen to them they are only jealous.” She let go of his neck and jumped out of his hold, snubbing her boots on a stone, “Why would they be jealous of me?” She scoffed.

How she could not see it, he didn’t know, either she was oblivious or simple, no Arya was never simple. “Because they know that one day you will be more beautiful than the both of them.”

Arya looked into his eyes, he could see her searching them. “Don’t lie to me Jon.” She replied, “I could never lie to you, little sister,” he quipped.

He knew she could tell he wasn’t lying, and after being genuinely confused, her face settled, looking resolute. “If you believe that brother” she stated, “Then you truly are stupid.”

Before he could reply she had turned, walking purposely toward a horse tied to a stake.

Untying her black stallion she lithely jumped into the saddle, and pressing her heels into its sides, she started galloping back down the way he had come.

Shouting over her shoulder she yelled, “First one home gets the others deserts for a week!”.

Without thinking he jumped back into the saddle and spurred his horse after his little sister. It didn’t matter that she had a head start, Arya would always win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did u think? Please let me know down below. I think criticism can really help, so tell me straight if u think there is something I can improve on. I would like to update this regularly to keep u guys as interested as possible, maybe once a week? I don’t think I’ll be able to do it more that as I’m currently moving house and about to start Six form. I’d also rather give myself enough time to make it perfect rather than rush or not make the deadlines I’ve said I’ll meet. I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep. Anyway I’m just rambling, so I guess this is it, until I think about 7 next Wednesday. Bye for now. -A


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, I said I’d update around 7, so I think this is pretty close, still kinda introducing the story, setting a bit of background, the fun will begin soon, I promise. Enjoy!

Arya Stark

As the gates of Winterfell grew closer, it wasn’t long till she could make out the details of the fortress, standing regally against the landscape. While it may not have been pretty in a southern way, her homes grey granite walls were strong, hardy against the relentless northern weather, and she could of think nothing that could have made her feel safer. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could see her brother galloping closer. Pressing harder, she urged her horse on, Jon was as good rider, and while he may have been fast, she was faster. The sound of a hooves, cantering against stone soon filled the previous quiet, joined quickly after by another’s. Entering the courtyard a peal of laughter burst from her lips, a triumphant smile gracing her features. “Beaten again dear brother!” Arya pronounced circling the yard, as servants jumped out of her path, smiling despite their annoyance at the actions of Ned’s daughter. 

Arya pulled her horse to a halt and leapt from saddle. She was soon joined by her brother, out of breath in his failure to catch her. “You had a head start, little sister, that was not a fair race.” Jon protested, smiling down at his smaller sibling. “Aye, I suppose, I guess we’ll just have to race again tomorrow, and see who the real winner is then.” Arya said, smirking to herself knowing Jon would never deny her. “What do I hear about tomorrow?” A stern but humorous voice called to the similarly featured pair. Arya turned to see Jory, her fathers household guard captain striding towards them.

Jory Cassel

He knew where she would be, it was no surprise, almost always being where he found the wild girl. He had sent Jon to bring her back, they seemed closer to another than they were with any of their other Stark siblings. The pair were often in each other’s company: whispering and giggling, sharing knowing looks and secrets jokes, finishing each other’s sentences. The siblings could mayhaps pass as twins, much to the annoyance he knew of the Lady Catelyn. Her hatred for her husbands bastard was well known within the castle. The girls appearance didn’t surprise him either, her face dirty much like the rest of her clothes: old breeches and a tunic too larger for her petite frame, probably stolen from an unsuspecting brother. Her hair was a mess of dark curls, left haphazardly down, reaching the small of her back. The Lady Stark would have a fit. “You are late for supper child, your mother has been beside herself worrying for you.” he stated. He felt sorry for the girl, who often escaped from her sewing lessons to watch her brothers training. He knew the girl wanted to learn to fight, something which her mother had forbidden. She had good shot though, her father relenting to letting her be taught how to use a bow when she argued that if he would leave her unable to defend herself, it would be his fault if she was ever hurt. “ I’m to take you straight to the hall, come now Arya Underfoot.” The nickname for the Lady since she was all but 5, constantly in the way, trying to help with the chores and with what needed to be done throughout the castle. The Lady Arya looked sheepishly to him and followed his lead, her bastard brother her shadow. 

Eddard Stark 

It had been almost half an hour since his wife had sent Jory to find his daughter, and he could sense Catelyn was only becoming more frustrated as time ticked by. His thoughts soon turned to his daughter and he could only smile. His girl so brave but stubborn to a fault. When he had first held her, he already loved his girl, a surprisingly small babe with a head full of dark hair, staring back at him with eyes so much like his own. He couldn’t help but love her unconditionally . She was so similar to his sister it pained him, first it was her attitude and actions, and now recently in her looks.

It was no secret that Eddard favoured his second daughter, although the Lord wouldn’t admit to it himself. The Warden of the North could never remain angry at her and more often than not relented on the punishments she had justly earned. He was scared for his Arya, that one day, history was to repeat its tragedy. But he would not let that happen, as long as he was alive, he would ensure no one would take away his daughter, or any of his family for that matter. As Ned involuntarily began to think of those many years past, the doors of the great hall were pushed open, revealing his daughter and nephew, no, Jon was his son, Ned internally corrected himself. In stepped his daughter and son, one looking reproachful and the other tense.

Catelyn Stark

Catelyn Stark loved all her children, it was the curse of being a mother, no matter what they did, she suspected she could never stop loving them. She was also proud to be their mother: Robb, her first child, a strong boy and worthy heir. Her eldest daughter Sansa, so much the same as herself in appearance, like most of her children. She was a beauty, with her auburn hair and blue eyes, perfected in all the womanly arts. Then there was Bran, her sweet summer child. He was kind and clever although he did have a love for climbing, and it made her fear for him. Then there was Rickon, she knew he was going to be a challenge, daring and and bold, he had a dash of the so called wolfblood. But if she thought Rickon would be a challenge, he would be comparatively easy to the child that just walked into the hall. Arya, her second daughter, her only child that took after her father in colouring. She was a wild spirit, hard to tame and even harder to bargain with. She was daring though stubborn, never wanting to stand still and always trying to be outside adventuring. Arya was hopeless at sewing and was brazen with her words, but seemed to have a talent for dancing and a singing voice that could challenge a goddess. If she tried she could have been a beautiful lady, but seemed to rather ride around in dirty breeches with her hair full of leaves and twigs. 

When she was younger Arya could almost be mistaken for a boy, yet now her once odd features had matured into something breathtaking, her daughters looks could rival that of her sisters, and she had not even had her first blood. Quietly her daughter took her seat, not daring to look her in the eyes. “And why are you late today Arya?” Her voice rang out clear and disapproving, a voice commonly heard when talking to that of her daughter. 

Arya Stark

She knew she’d be in for it as soon as she stepped into the hall. The quiet consuming the table was enough to know she was in trouble, deep trouble. “I’m sorry mother, truly. I didn’t realise how late it was.” She started apologetically. “You never do seem to realise how late it is getting, I was worried sick, you went without telling anybody where you were. What if something had happened?” Yes she really was in trouble. Arya opened her mouth to respond but was not given the chance. “No Arya, I don’t want to hear anymore excuses. I’ve had it. Not only did you run off but you also left your sewing lesson. I have been more than fair child. I allow you ride around and have your archery lessons despite how unbecoming it is. All you have to do is attend you lessons with Septa Mordane. I put up with much Arya Stark but now, it is enough.”

Jon Snow

Arya didn’t want to be a lady, she had told him more times than he could count, it wasn’t fair for his young sister, but it was the way things were and she would do well to learn it. She should have also learned by now not to answer her mother back while she was angry, but Arya never seemed to know when to call it quits. “It wasn’t my fault,” Arya began looking at her mother, “I couldn’t stay!”she protested. “And why couldn’t you stay?” The Lady Catelyn questioned arching her eyebrow. He knew why she didn’t want to stay, and if he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t either. He glanced at Sansa, whose eyes were suddenly downcast and cheeks crimson with what he guessed was shame.

Arya and Sansa had a difficult relationship, and while Sansa wouldn’t spare a thought on tattling on her sister, he knew Arya was no snitch, no matter the amount of trouble it could land her in. When Arya didn’t respond, the Lady Stark took that as her answer. “Fine, since you give me no reason as to why, no more riding for a week.” Catelyn declared. “What? Mother that’s not fair…” Arya began to protest, only to be cut short again. “ Do not begin to tell me what is fair and what is not, do you want me to make it two weeks?” The Lady threatened. He could see Arya clench her jaw, effectively biting her tongue, she turned her blazing eyes towards her father, their father pleadingly. The lord said nothing but shook his head, standing by his wives decision. Arya must have realised she’d get nowhere by arguing without the support of her father, and after sending a scorching look at Sansa, stormed out of the hall slamming the door behind her. 

Eddard Stark

The sound of the door echoed through the hall, leaving in its wake a strained silence. Catelyn sighed, frustration painted plainly on her features. He felt for his wife, he understood how difficult it was to tame the so called wolfblood. He knew his daughter had to have boundaries, but it was hard to see his child suffer even if it was for her own good. His wife turned to him, silently seeking his approval, asking if her chosen punishment was justified. He grabbed her hand in support , sharing his agreement. The rest of the evening meal was eaten in an awkward silence. Robb looked uncomfortable, the same as Bran. Rickon was too young to understand what was going on but caught on to the tense atmosphere and decidedly stayed quiet. Sansa feigned ignorance though looked a little guilty. What did she have to feel guilty for? He glanced at Jon, who only glared upon his redheaded daughter with poorly concealed anger. Arya and Jon had always been close, every since she was but a babe; it warmed his heart. So he could only guess that he knew the reason Arya had for missing her lessons, and judging by his anger at Sansa, he figured it had something to do with her as well. He’d have to talk to Arya. It didn’t take much longer for everybody to finish eating and desert was about to be served, it was then Jon stood, attracting his attention, “What’s wrong Jon?” he asked.

Jon Snow

He couldn’t sit there any longer, not while Arya sat in her chambers alone, the only place she could go after supper. He stood, attracting the attention of his family, his father then asking what was wrong. He didn’t want to answer the question, it wasn’t his story to tell. “Could I be excused?”, he asked, the Lady Catelyn looked as if this was the best idea she had ever heard, but his father looked confused. “Are you sure Jon, desert hasn’t been served yet?” Of course he was sure, if he went now he could have some time with the person he cared about the most. “Yes, I’m sure.” He insisted. Despite his fathers uncertainty he finally relented, “Of course you can go.” He stood quickly, walking briskly out of the hall, but as he was about to reach the stairs that gave him the quickest route to his sisters chamber, he had a thought. Smiling to himself he turned on his heel, he needed to make a quick detour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it... for now at least. Hope you enjoyed this next chapter! Let me know down below. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, I’m glad to you’ve come back for more! This is *fingers crossed* the last chapter before things really kick off so enjoy...

Arya Stark

It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair. Why was she being punished all because her sister made it her life’s mission to make her miserable. Turning from her back she brought herself to her knees, and began punching her pillow over and over and over again. She imagined it was her sisters face, she wouldn’t be so pretty now would she, Arya thought. Her door was then opened, groaning quietly. Pausing her onslaught she glanced towards the source of the sound, only to find Jon looking at her questioningly. “May I ask what that pillow ever did to you little sister”, Jon asked playfully, “It reminded me of Sansa.” She replied, resuming her assault. Her brothers following chuckle was joined by the creak of the door closing. Jon then turned, walking to perch on the end of her bed, facing the blazing hearth. Giving her pillow a few more good swings, she joined her brother, sitting cross legged, close to his side.

They sat in a companionable silence, Jon needing no words to communicate his support. “You missed desert.” Jon started, urgh, she already knew she missed the best part of supper, he didn’t have to remind her. “I know.” She sighed, defeated. “Well it’s a good thing I’m here,” her brother began again. “Why is that?” Arya questioned her brother, still sullen. “If it wasn’t for me,” he said a grin curving his lips as he reached into his pocket, “Then you would have missed out on having your favourite desert.” Arya turned her head looking into her brothers palm, in which sat a parcel covered in cloth. She reached for the package but she could now smell it, the alluring scent of pastry. Why didn’t she smell it before? Grasping the package with delicate hands, she could feel the warmth emanating from within, unraveling the cloth, she was greeted with the sight of 3 blackberry tarts. 

Jon Snow

Arya’s eyes widened and the surprised look upon her face made him glow, she turned towards him then, her eyes filled with a love that he was sure his own mirrored. “You shouldn’t have brought me these brother, you could have gotten in trouble taking them from the kitchen.” Arya started reluctantly, “I’m already in trouble you can’t be too, otherwise who would I have to keep me company.” That was more like his sister. Jumping up and walking forwards, Arya placed the tarts in front of the fire, with the idea, he thought, to keep them warm. Turning back she faced him with a half smile of gratitude.  
“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “nobody saw me and besides, there’s only one person who would tattle on us. We just have to make sure we…” “Don’t tell Sansa!” They pronounced in unison. Arya launched towards him then, tackling him backward down to her bed, peeling with laughter. Jon joined in her joy, wrestling his sister, tickling her sides as she squirmed and assaulted him back, their laughter dancing around the room.

Eddard Stark

As he approached the chambers of his youngest daughter all he could hear were muffled cries of protest and laughter. Walking closer, he slowly lifted the latch and gently opened the door, just enough to see into the room. Ahh, he thought, understanding now the reason for the noise. As there upon his wild daughters bed, she and her cousin, brother, were what looked like play fighting. Despite himself he smiled, the two always seemed to bring each other joy. But as much as he liked to see them together, he couldn’t let it happen for much longer. 

If his wife saw this scene, Arya wouldn’t be riding for considerably longer than a week and he didn’t even want to think about the consequences that Jon would have to face. He knew Catelyn’s actions towards Jon were cruel, her treatment was unfair and should have been directed at no one but himself. He could imagine the anger he would feel if his wife asked him to bring up a child that was not of his seed, but he could never take his anger out on a child, blameless of their parents crimes. Closing the door silently he waited a few seconds, before knocking purposely on the door. “Arya can I come in?” He asked.

Arya Stark

The sound of her fathers voice startled her and without thinking, she pushed off Jon and pointed him towards her closet. “Two Seconds!” She shouted to her father, scrambling to straighten her bed and herself. When Jon had shut the closet door, she yelled “Come in”. If her appearance shocked her father he didn’t show it, as he came into the room and joined her in sitting at the edge of her bed. Grabbing her hand, he gently pulled Arya into his lap, then encircled her with his arms. Looking up, Arya was met by her fathers amused stare. “What really happened today little wolf, why did you run from your lessons?” Her father asked. Oh no, she didn’t want to tell him, he’d think she was stupid, acting no better than her baby brother. “It doesn’t matter father, I shouldn’t have left, I know that.” Arya began, trying to avoid the subject. “It does matter if it upset you.” He stated understandingly. But he wouldn’t understand, she thought, he didn’t have be a lady. But she knew she couldn’t lie to him, he knew her too well. “I had an argument with Sansa ‘tis all.” She relented, it wasn’t really the truth but it was close enough. 

Although her father looked as if he didn’t believe her, he questioned her no more on the matter, instead turning the conversation towards himself. “Do you know what happened to my brother?” What, his brother, Benjen? But he’s at castl- oh, ohhhh. He means Brandon, his older brother, but her never talks about him. Or Lyanna. Or her Grandfather. Where was he going with this?   
“My uncle Brandon was killed by the Mad king.” She stated reluctantly, unsure where the conversation was turning. “Yes he was, and do you know why?” Her father asked again, in a quiet, dejected voice. Arya shook her head, not knowing the answer. Ned continued, “After he found out about Lya, he rode down to Kings Landing himself and told the king to send out his son to meet him and die.” Arya sat tensely, she hadn’t been told before, “The king was mad, and he took my brother, and then my father. You do know what happened to them.” Yes, she did. They were both killed, her grandfather was burned alive as her uncle watched, trying to save his father but strangling himself in the process. Her father began again. “My brother was strong and brave but he rash, he didn’t think about the consequences of his actions. If he didn’t go that day, if he didn’t act out of anger, he and my father would mayhaps still be here today.” She shivered, the grim reality making her cold. 

Her father continued, “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you little wolf?” She thought she did, “That I should think before doing something that might hurt me in the end?” She suggested, “Yes but not just your actions, your words as well, because, in the end it might not only be you is affected by the consequences of your actions.” The blazing hearth did nothing to help the chill within her, she shivered again. Her father tightened his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her head. “I’m sorry father, it’ll try to make sure I don’t miss anymore of my lessons.” Releasing her from his grasp, her father stood and made his way to her door, and opening it halfway murmured, “Ensure that you do Arya.” Stepping out of the room, her father then turned to close the door but before he could, he mentioned, “And Arya…” she turned her head towards him expectantly, “You might want to give at least one those tarts you’ve got by the fire to Jon, where ever he is in here. Considering how he missed his own desert to bring you them.” Her father then closed the door, leaving her in a stunned silence.

Eddard Stark

He closed the door, chuckling at the shocked expression he left on his daughters face as he walked to his own chambers. When he arrived his wife was already in bed, so he decided to join her. The letters he received earlier that day could wait, they could be dealt with tomorrow. He was all but settled, when, unusually someone knocked on his door. “Enter.” He bid them, “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord but you have a letter,” the master started apologetically. 

“A letter? Surely my husband can see to it tomorrow?” Catelyn began sounding annoyed, “I thought so too, my lady, but that was before I saw the mark, it’s the kings own.” The master shuffled nervously forward, only to be met by Ned, who jumping from his previously relaxed position, reached for the letter, “The kings own? Are you sure?” Catelyn asked incredulously, then turning her attention towards him, “When was the last time he sent you a message personally?” He didn’t know the answer to that question, years ago perhaps, and due to this fact, he feared the worst. Dark wings, dark words. That was what he was always told. “I can’t recall.” He murmured, answering his wife. Hastily he opened the small scroll and began reading. No, it couldn’t be, he thought. “What does it say?” Catelyn began again, Ned then turned to his wife, his gaze anxious and anguished. “Jon Arryn is dead.” 

“Jon Arryn is dead.” his words echo emptily around. His friend, his mentor, his protector, dead. His wife covers her mouth as she gasps, her shock evident. “Dead, truly?” She query’s, disbelief marring her features. “I’m sorry Ned, I know how much he meant to you.” Catelyn soothes, standing to embrace him. He welcomes her support, numb except to the warmth of his wife’s arms around him. He knew Jon’s deaths shouldn’t have shaken him so, the Valeman had 80 namedays, he was lucky to have lived so long. The master cleared this throat and began, stirring Ned out of his reverie. “Again my lord, I’m sorry for the intrusion at this hour, I thought it best you were given the letter.”

“No apology is needed Luwin, thank you for bringing it straight away,” Ned responded. With a nod the maester retreated out of the chambers, “Come to bed Ned, we can deal with this in the morning love.” Catelyn implored, trying to coax her husband back to rest. He gave in, as much as he needed to deal with the matter, he didn’t want to. Nodding his assent, he climbed back into bed. That night Ned fell in to a fitful sleep, plagued by the images of two children, following a man they both thought of as a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do u think? Let me know! This will hopefully be the last of the shorter chapters, cuz I think I can probably write a bit more than I am already, now I’ve got going. The house move is done! Yay. School starts on Monday. Not as big a yay. But yeh hope you enjoyed it!


	4. A True Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so maybe I lied, THIS is the last chapter before the arrival of Robert, definitely. I’m sooooo sorry, I totally forgot about one of the major parts of the fic. Don’t worry, I’ve set aside enough money in the budget for them. This chapter is proof of that. Hope you enjoy!

Eddard Stark

It was a week later when he heard the news of the kings sudden departure from the Capital, and yet another two days before he knew the reason why. Now he had to prepare, prepare for the arrival of the king. Ned knew it could take at best a moon and 2 sennights to reach Winterfell, and that was for a travelling party. He couldn’t guess how much longer it would take for the entirety of court to travel all the way.

Despite the amount of time he knew he had, preparations for the arriving royalty were in full swing. His wife took the brunt of the burden, organising the household in a way  
only a noble lady could. Despite his reduced role, he was still so overwhelmed that it was almost a relief to have to leave the castle to deal with a deserter of the Nights Watch, almost.

Despite Catelyn’s protests, he decided it was past time that Bran saw what the kings justice actually entailed; what the world he lived in was like. It gave him no joy to take another mans life, but it was his duty as a Stark and as the Warden of the North. His honour dictated that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, and Ned Stark was nothing if not honourable.

The deserter was obviously mad, sprouting on about white walkers. While Ned was not a superstitious man, he did believe that all the legends and stories he had heard must at least have some semblance of truth mixed within them. The White Walkers mayhaps once existed, but to believe they had returned was utter lunacy.

It was bloody, but the end was quick and as painless as death could possibly be, or so it was said. Bran did well, Ned thought, not looking away as he thought he might. Though judging by how pale his skin now seemed to be, it had had some effect. The journey back was somber, quiet whispers were all that he could hear as they traveled to Winterfell, taking a path through some woods. Then up a head, at the front of the small group, where his sons and Theon were riding, he saw a rider dismount hastily and jump down the bank.

Jon Snow

He was sure he heard something, in fact he was positive. Theon laughed, telling him he was hearing things, going as crazy as the deserter that had just been beheaded. Mayhaps he was going mad, he thought, he couldn’t see anything now, but he was sure he heard that cry. “Found anything yet?” A jeering voice called out from the track, “is it a White Walker?” Fine. He was about to turn back but out of the corner of his eye he saw it. Blood. A lot of blood. It wasn’t long until he found the source: stag, with its stomach torn open, guts strewn haphazardly around. What sort of animal could do that?

Just then a faint cry echoed through the foliage. There it was, he thought, that sound again. He followed the cry, pushing aside the layers of leaves, until, he saw a sight which he thought confirmed Theon’s beliefs: he was madder than the mad king himself.

Robb Stark

“Get down here quick!” Jon’s astounded voice called out, “You’re going to want to see this.” What could he have possibly found down there? A dragon? Sharing a look with Theon, he dismounted from his mare and, followed by his friend and younger sibling, Robb made his way towards his half brother. He’d barely made it down the bank and past some of the many branches when he saw a dead stag, but judging by the fact Jon was still ahead, it wasn’t what he had found. Driving deeper into the brush, he soon laid eyes upon the cause of the commotion.  
A wolf, well it was too big to be called a wolf, it was like nothing he could have imagined. There lay a wolf, with an antler piercing it’s neck, while, down suckling at its teets, lay 5 pups.

So that was what Jon had heard, the pups. He looked at Jon, who wearing a smug ‘I told you so’ smile, bent down to stroke one of the grey wolflings.

Theon Greyjoy

He couldn’t believe it, his eyes must have been playing tricks on him. Or mayhaps he had eaten something? Yes. That was it, he must have eaten something funny and it was now making him delusional. But he couldn’t be seeing things, otherwise Robb and Bran wouldn’t have looked so awestruck.

“What is it?” Bran asked incredulously, looking up to Jon. “It’s a freak, that’s what it is.” He declared, it wasn’t right. How could such a beast exist? It was about the size of a pony, standing up he could imagine it being about 14 hands, it’s shoulders meeting his breast. It was unnatural. Unreal. “It’s a wolf.” Robb responded sending him a stare full of destain. He was his closest friend, more like a brother to him than his actual siblings, all the Stark children were.

He couldn’t respond before the sound of footfalls, many in-fact could be heard approaching where they stood. Then through the bushes arrived the Lord Stark, a man who he looked upon as a father of sorts. Upon taking on look at the beast, the Lords face looked troubled, then turning upon an equally apprehensive Ser Rodrick, he proclaimed “It’s a direwolf.”

Eddard Stark

Never. Not in all his life would he think he would lay his eyes upon a direwolf. Ever. “There’s no direwolves south of the Wall.” His eldest argued. No. There wasn’t, or at least there weren’t meant to be. “Well now there are 5.” Jon answered back. Picking up one and offering it to Bran, asking if he wanted to hold it. His second son looked astounded, marvelling at the pup now in his arms. “What is going to happen to them?” Bran asked, “Their mother is dead”. What to do now. There was only one thing to do really, it was the most merciful, they couldn’t survive on their own.

“They don’t belong down here.” A wisened voice warned. Ser Rodrik was right, they didn’t. “Better a quick death.” Yes, God’s did he hope when he went it was quick, he didn’t want to be left in pain.

The sound of a knife being drawn cut the tense silence, “Hand it here,” Theon commanded, he was a good lad, truly, mayhaps a little cocky, arrogant, but Ned knew he wasn’t malicious, only following his orders. “No!” His son cried, holding the pup tighter, his thoughts that this mercy was unjust clear. “Father please,” his son begged. “I’m sorry Bran.” Ned answered, “but it’s the kindest thing to do.” Sharing a look with Jory he reached down for a pup, and drew the hunting knife from his belt.

“Lord Stark.” Jon spoke, halting his from his actions. Jon never called him that, not unless Catelyn was near. What was wrong, he wondered. “There are 5 pups, one for each of the Stark children…” Jon continued. He was excluding himself, Jon _was _his son; despite his actual origin, he was still a father to the boy. He knew how much it pained his nephew to be reminded of his ‘bastard’ status, so why was he bringing it up? “The direwolf is the sigil of your house, they were meant to have them.” Jon finished. Oh… That was the reason why, he wanted to save the pups.

Bran turned his hopeful eyes towards him, pleadingly. Well, what could he do now? Jon was right, it couldn’t merely be a coincidence. Decided, Ned turned towards Bran, “You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die, you’ll bury them yourselves.”

Jon Snow

He breathed a sigh of relief, the pups would live, or at least have a chance. His father turned and, followed by the rest of the party in the clearing, made his way back to the horses up on the track.

With Theon and Robb grabbing the rest of the pups, two each, they turned to follow the rest of the group, but before he could take a step, Bran turned his head, “What about you?” He questioned. The question punched him in the gut, seizing his heart, “I’m not a Stark,” he replied numbly, the only thing he ever wanted to be his entire life, never to be achieved. “Now get on.” Throwing him an apologetic look, Bran followed. Still stuck on his reverie, he almost missed the small squall coming from his left, in the midst of some bush. Stopping in his tracks he bent down to get a closer look, and there, curled on twisted roots and fallen leaves, lay a white ball of fur.

Reaching in, he garnered the attention of his companions, who turned his way as he pulled the pup out by the scruff of its neck. Holding it up, he could see how much smaller it was compared to its litter mates. Just then Theon mocked, “The runt of the litter, that ones yours, Snow.” But he didn’t care, he was not bothered one bit by the remark. A bastard he may be, but he was still as much of a Stark.

The rest of the journey back to Winterfell was uneventful, and upon arriving he was met by an eager Arya, no doubt waiting for the groups return. Her dress was clean, in-fact he could see no mark, stain or even a hint mud upon her, though since they were told of the kings arrival, the sight wasn’t surprising.

Only recently it seemed, had his sister began to take her role as a lady more seriously. Although her mother seemed overjoyed, he knew it was to Sansa’s dismay. His redheaded sister was use to having her mothers full attention and approval, now it looked as if she didn’t enjoy having to share it. He couldn’t understand the reasoning behind Arya’s newfound willingness, but her mother did seem more tolerant of her more unladylike pursuits when she saw her daughter at least making an effort.

Despite this though, Arya had obviously escaped from somewhere to be able to meet them in the yard. His father had barely gotten of his horse before Arya had jumped into his arms, asking about how the execution had been. His sister may look more like a proper lady, but she was still the same Arya at heart.

It wasn’t long before his sisters attention was captured by him and her brothers, or more accurately what they held within their arms.

She ran up to Robb, reaching out for a pup he held, passing it to her, she lifted it, eyeing it with curiosity, “What are they? Wolves?” Arya questioned looking at him. “Nay,” Robb beat him to it, “They’re direwolves.” His sister turned to look at him incredulously, imploring him to deny what Robb had just stated. “Aye, it’s true little sister, we saw the mother, as big as a large pony she was.” Jon told her, “Was?” Arya asked, “The mother is dead.” He stated, her face turned sorrowful, “What about the pups then?” Arya almost whispered, “They are ours, one for each of us Stark children.”

Her face lit up with joy, cradling the wolf she had picked close to her chest. Her eyes wondered to him and the white wolf he held, she smiled, and he knew what she was thinking. She was the always the first to remind him that he was still her brother, despite her mother not being his.

Her smile confirmed that the gods knew she was right, he was as much a Stark as she was.

Arya Stark

It didn’t seem possible. A direwolf, a real direwolf. Hers. She was no stranger around animals, but her mother allowing her to keep one that may be able to bite a mans head clean off if she grew as large as some tales told, was something she could only dream of. Arya however, couldn’t decide what to call her, and after three days without giving her pup a name, she knew she had to make up her mind.

She was sitting near Sansa, attempting to sew yet another pretty pattern which would probably be found up in the fire by the end of the afternoon, when, Jeyne, yet again steered the idle chatter back to the nearing arrival of the king, and in turn the princes.

“I hear he is very handsome.” One of the lady’s said dreamily. _Urg,_ she was sick of hearing about people she never had nor would probably care about. Why did it matter if the crown prince was handsome? All they seemed to really care about was the crown he would inherit, why should it matter if he was pretty?

Personally she couldn’t care less if her husband was easy on the eyes, not that she planned on marrying anyway. Actually it would probably be better if he was ugly, then she didn’t have to worry about any other women lusting after him. Perhaps he would even be more inclined to marry her, since they would at least have their un-comely features in common, she thought. “He isn’t even betrothed yet, don’t you think it strange, nearly of age with no wife to be?” Spoke another.

“Perhaps the king has been waiting to find the right lady.” Jeyne said pointedly, looking at Sansa, who blushed prettily, always prettily, giggling at her friend as she reached to pet her own wolf, _Lady_.

Of course Sansa would make the perfect queen, just like she was the perfect lady, Arya mused, poking her needle roughly through her material. Sansa would have pretty babies, princes and princesses, and sew them all the pretty clothes in the world. Sansa would be the next queen of the seven kingdoms by marrying her perfect prince Joffrey.

Arya vowed she wouldn’t marry, never, not even to become a queen, her freedom meant more to her than power. Piercing what could have once been a shirt with her sewing needle blindly, Arya inevitably caught her finger. _Damn. _She winced, her finger smarting, blood welling and dribbling down to her palm.

It was then that her own wolf lifted her snout, sniffing the wound and then licking it, cleaning her previously bloody hand. Looking into her wolfs’ golden eyes she saw a kindred spirit, her pet so much like herself, yearning for a freedom, one that Arya would never be allowed.

Looking into their golden depths, Arya was reminded of the sun, it’s underestimated strength, _even the dragons bowed to the sun_, she remembered. She was reminded of the sand, deadly to those who did not know it. It made her think of Dorne, so liberated and independent, so… free. She would never be free, cuffed by the constraints of society. She had no chance to be powerful on her own here, she couldn’t become a warrior queen like Nymeria here, fighting for her own crown. It was then that Arya decided: she may be chained, but she swore her wolf would not. Her wolf would be allowed the freedom she could never have, her wolf would be her own warrior-queen, she would be Nymeria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope u liked it, if you want, let me know! Do you think I introduced the direwolves ok? Personally, I like to think the colour of Nymerias eyes were the reason that Arya picked the name, I mean she could have picked something like Visenya. But anyway it is a slightly longer chapter, not by much though. Six form is hard! Ive underestimated it a lot. :/ . Im just going to warn you, this whole thing is going to be superrrr self-indulgent. There are dragons, so magic exists, which means a lot of things can be explained because of it. I’ll be using that excuse. Again, thanks for coming back if you have been before, and if ur new I hope you have enjoyed it! Till next week :)


	5. Arriving Royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m late updating, I’ll keep this short, hope you enjoy!!!

Eddard Stark

The weeks before the arrival of the kings party soon turned to days, and the perpetrations only increased. If he thought his home was overwhelming now, he could only guess what if would be like when Robert actually appeared.

Mere days before the event, the northern lords began to arrive, all eager to meet their king. Additionally bringing their daughters, in the hope they would catch the eyes of the southern knights and nobility, but most particularly the eyes of the princes. A marriage to royalty ensuring a raise in their houses and their own social standing.

It was before the arrival of the Mormonts, one of his most loyal bannermen, when Ned noticed the absence of his daughter.

Arya would surely be the one most excited for the arrival of the She-bears, considering her and the Lady Lyanna Mormont were close. Lyanna was one, if not the only lady Arya was actually fond of, although Ned knew it was not due to her title. The two were quite alike, not in looks, but in both their thoughts and actions.

Ned was happy his daughter had found a friend his wife would vaguely approve of.

Her absence had caused him to search for Arya, thinking of the places she could possibly be. He knew she wouldn’t have gone to the town per her routine, his wife forbidding it days earlier due to the arrival of people there, many of whom they didn’t know. He agreed on that, and thankfully the decision drastically decreased the number of places she could be.

Walking around the recently swept yards, he heard the laughter of children coming from the direction of the godswood. He turned, walking through the worn rusted gates that marked the entrance, he should have thought to look there first.

Arya Stark

Her stick clashed with his, as her brother raised his own broken branch, trying to block her strike. In doing so he left his right ribs open for attack, a mistake she would take advantage of. Lunging forwards, she slashed at his now exposed side, causing him to have to clumsily step back, in order to avoid the potentially bruising assault. Seeing his weakened balance, Arya stepped forward, sweeping her leg, catching one of his own and bringing him crashing to the ground.

“That wasn’t fair!” Rickon protested angrily, quickly sitting from his heaped position. “You tripped me up!” Her brother declared breathing heavily, his face red from both indignation and exhaustion.

Although it was usually Jon who Arya was with the most, he wasn’t always able to indulge her with his company. Robb, was usually too busy to play with her, with his teachings to prepare to become the Lord of Winterfell one day.

Bran, though closer to her in age, often enjoyed his own company, scaling the castle walls. Although confident in her own sure-footedness, she knew she couldn’t climb as well as him.

Sansa would never even consider playing the games she would want to. So the baton passed to her youngest brother.

Despite his young age, Rickon was the perfect companion for Arya, being both daring and bold, seemingly unbothered by the opinions of their mother. She enjoyed his company; his willingness to be with her despite her gender.

Arya stuck out her hand, offering to help him up off the floor. Her brother grabbed it, using it to make a stand. Rickon was wiping the dust, mud and dead leaves off of himself when they heard heavy footfalls approaching. Turning around, both of the disheveled Starks were met with the sight of their father, sporting an exasperated yet unsurprised look.

“You’re going to be late.” Her father spoke in an authorities tone, eyeing their appearance. Late for what, Arya thought, looking down at herself. Ok, she guessed she was a bit muddy, and the tunic she was wearing had a hole in it. But she supposed she didn’t look too bad right? No, surely she couldn’t have, but judging by her fathers expression, he didn’t think the same.

Anyway, she mused, why did it matter if she looked a little grubby. It wasn’t as if she had to meet anyone.

Suddenly it dawned on her. Lyanna was arriving today. The Mormont’s would be here quite soon actually, judging by how much the sun had lowered in the sky. She had lost track of the time. Urgh, her mother was going to be so mad at her, she definitely wouldn’t be doing anything fun with Anna tonight.

Picking up her ruined shirts, and throwing a thankful look to her father, Arya ran out of the godswood and to her chambers.

Lyanna Mormont

The journey was harder than she thought it would be. The few good tracks spanning across the north full of people, making travel slow and tiresome. It seemed like the whole of the north was migrating towards Wintertown, the biggest and closest area capable of housing so many travelers. She could only guess the mostly abandoned town during a summer like this was as full, if not fuller than it was in the dead of winter.

However she couldn’t complain, there weren’t many visits from royalty above the neck and although she was looking forward to seeing the king, his arrival gave her the opportunity to visit Winterfell, and in particularly Arya.

When she first visited the fortress she didn’t think she would have met another lady like herself. Considering her mothers light warnings that the Lady Catelyn was like most Southron ladies, strick and uptight, she thought her daughters would be much of the same.

While the Lady Sansa was what she had expected, a lady through and though. Contented to sit all day gossiping and sewing, polite and quiet, almost a replica of her lady mother. The Lady Arya was the exact opposite.

Her friend loved to ride, and she grudgingly had to admit that Arya was better than herself atop a horse. In-fact, she guessed that Arya was one of the best riders she knew.  
She also had a sense of adventure, taking any opportunity to explore the land surrounding the castle. Since they had met around 3 years previous, they’d spent hours together, riding until they were forced to return.

The Lady also has a knack for fighting, but unlike herself, was forbidden. It was a shame, Lyanna thought. Arya was quick and determined, she certainly would have made a good swordsman with enough practice, even with her short stature.

Riding through Winterfell’s gates to the largest inner yard, her party was greeted by not only all the Stark family, but also by many of their other prominent bannermen. House Glover, Karstark, Manderly, Umber and Reed were there to welcome them. It had been 4 months since she had last seen Arya, and though she shouldn’t have surprised, her friends appearance shocked her.

Staring right back at her, Lyanna didn’t see so much of a child in her friend, but the beginnings of a woman. For once Arya didn’t look out of place standing next to her sister, who was always pretty. Now she didn’t know who she would call the most handsome.

Lyanna was sure she mirrored the dazzling smile Arya was sending her way, and had barely jumped out of her saddle when Arya ran towards her. Not one for propriety herself, she met her halfway, crashing into each other in a crushing hug. At least Arya still laughed the same, Lyanna thought, as she joined in her friends joy.

Breaking apart, Lyanna could see the disapproving looks marring the Lady Catelyn’s and Sansa’s faces, clearly not approving. However the Lord Stark seemed only amused, looking dearly upon his daughter. And judging by the chuckling of the other lords and ladies present, they thought the same.

“Oh Anna, I’ve missed you so much!” Arya gushed, “I can’t wait till we can go riding together, I’ve got so much to show you.” Quickly, Lyanna cut in, “I’ve missed you too Arya.” But before she could carry on. “Did I tell you I got a Stallion for my name day last moonturn?” Arya continued not pausing for breath, “How could I forget, we all…” cutting his daughter short, the Lord Stark spoke. “Steady Arya, The Mormonts have barely arrived.” Cowed slightly Arya blushed, giving her a sheepish smile and stepping back to her place.

It was then that Lyanna’s own mother began, “It’s good to see you too little lady.” Maege spoke directly at Arya, before turning to Eddard, “I suppose it’s be quite a while my lord, it’s an honour to be here.”

“I’m glad you could make it my lady.” The Lord spoke, “It’s getting late, lets get you to your rooms, I hope that you don’t mind your daughters having to share.” Eddard apologised. “Nonsense, Lyra and Jory will have no problem, and I’m sure Anna here will enjoy the time she will be spending with the Lady Arya.” Maege countered.

Looking towards Arya, Lyanna was met with and exited smirk. How did she convince Lady Catelyn to allow this? She wondered. What ever she may have had to do, Lyanna was glad, at least she had two full days with her friend before the arrival of the king.

Eddard Stark

He didn’t know what to expect. It had been years since he had last seen Robert, and he wondered what his childhood friend had became. Did he look old, with his hair starting to grey? Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all, the same warrior who fought beside all those years ago.

The thunder of hooves grew louder as he stood beside his glowing wife, with his children, or at least most of them standing stoically in line beside her.

He knew he should have got someone to escort his youngest daughter from her rooms to the yard, he should have known she’d wonder off somewhere. He’d have to get someone to find her, she couldn’t be seen absent, especially for the arrival of the king.

While turning to catch the eye of his steward, he saw a small figure running towards him. When a few metres away, his daughter slowed to a walk, clearly out of breath. Catching her eyes, he sent her stern expression, to which she had the decency to look apologetic.

Despite her running, Eddard could not see any mud or creases marring the beautiful dark blue velvet of her dress. In fact, the only sigh of her hurrying being the flushed red of her cheeks and the whispers of hairs that had escaped from the simple braids taming her dark locks.

“Where have you been Arya?” His lady wife hissed from beside him, attempting to smooth down her daughters stray hairs.

“I’m sorry Mother.” His daughter replied, pushing Bran to the side to stand in her place. His wife only huffed in response.

Shortly after the arrival of Arya, the leading horses of the train filtered into the courtyard, followed quickly after by wheelhouse, possibly the grandest wheelhouse he had ever seen. Decorated in red and gold paint, it was huge, he even suspected it fixtures were gold themselves.

It was needlessly extravagant, Ned decided, and for that reason he could guess who it belonged to. However if it’s expense wasn’t enough indication, the golden haired kingsguard following could only confirm who traveled within.

Opening the door, the kingslayer held a hand towards his sister, which she used to exit regally, standing to her brothers side as he helped the Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen.

Cersie Lannister was strikingly beautiful, Eddard admitted, with golden hair and emerald eyes, looking every bit of the queen she was in the rich crimson gown she wore. He did not miss the sneer that outlined her face however, or the way she looked down upon all she saw.

Standing meekly beside their mother, the prince and princess looked around curiously with innocent expressions. Mayhaps they looked like their mother, but they seemed to not have inherited her attitude, he concluded.

But if the two youngest had only took after their mother in looks, the eldest was every part Lannister.

Riding into the yard, the Crown Prince displayed an air of superiority, disdainfully glancing around. Golden haired with the same green eyes, a jewelled coronet perched on his head. He had a slim build, but unlike his uncle, he looked weak. Joffrey carried a longsword, though Ned doubted the Prince used it, judging by the size of his arms.

Finally in rode the king.

Robert had changed. A lot. That much anyone could see.

He was fat, the kings girth had grown so large it seemed even the horse that was carrying him struggled under his weight. His face had grown almost haggard, with deep lines mapping his skin. Robert looked nothing like the man he remembered, Ned wondered if his friend would even be able to lift the war hammer he use to wield with ease.

When the king halted, Ned took to a knee, followed by the rest of the northmen and women gathered in the yard.

As heavy footsteps approached, Ned glanced up to see a stern frown set upon Roberts face. “Rise,” the king bid them in a booming voice, stopping short in front of him. Glancing Ned up and down, Robert pronounced, “You’ve got fat.”

Ned heard his wife’s intake of breath, but only returned his kings stare and replied, “And you haven’t?”

The seconds passed painfully as everyone waited with bated breath. The king then began to laugh, boisterously loud. The rest of the northerners followed, obviously relieved as the tension disappeared.

“It’s good to see you Ned,” Robert spoke, grabbing his shoulder friendly. “And I, you.” Ned returned, before the King moved on to his wife. “Ahh Cat.” The king said, before pulling the shocked lady into a hug, kissing her cheek. He had had something to drink, Ned concluded, possibly quite a few.

Robert then moved to his eldest. “You must be Robb.” He declared, shaking his hand. “Yes your grace,” Robb replied. “A strong lad.” The king noted, turning to Ned. Wobbling slightly, he proceeded to Sansa, saying, “A pretty one you are.” To which his daughter thanked him.

Turning from his eldest, the king fixed his attention upon his youngest daughter. When Arya turned from Bran, to who he guessed she was talking to and faced the king fully, Robert froze. Raising a shaking hand to cup Arya’s cheek, he whispered a name which wasn’t her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought down below! I’m going to edit these notes later, stating peoples ages in this from the start the first chapter. But for now hope you liked it, see you next week, I’ll deffo update on time, I promise!


	6. Propositions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, I’ve not got much to say, sooooooo enjoy!

Arya Stark

“Where’s the imp?” She questioned Bran, surprised she hadn’t seen him so far. He was a Lannister, the queens own brother, surely he must be here somewhere. Yet she hadn’t been able to see him.

“Will you shut up!” Her sister hissed, discretely trying to hold the dainty smile adorning her features while admonishing Arya. She didn’t understand what Sansa’s problem was, it was not like the king would be able to here her from where he stood talking to Robb. But even if he had been able to hear her, she doubted it would matter considering how drunk his grace seemed to be, wobbling and stumbling when he walked.

Again, Arya craned her neck to better get a look of the yard. Her mind seemingly forgot about the dwarf and marvelled at all the new people gathered. She couldn’t believe she could see the kingslayer, the actual kingslayer. Standing in his shiny golden armour and white cloak. He was as handsome as they said, Arya admitted, much like his sister. Well, she thought, they were twins. 

Then she saw Sir Barristan directly to her right.. Sir Barristan the Bold, it was incredible. I wonder if he would let me ask him what it was like being a kingsguard, in particularly what it was like serving the Targaryans, Arya internally debated. 

Suddenly the pointy elbow of her brother jammed into her ribs. 

“Ow!” Arya protested, turning towards him, sending a questioning look his way.

Bran indicated for her to turn, nodding his head towards her left. Twisting herself, Arya looked up, making eye contact with the drunkard king standing slightly to her side. She saw his eyes widen, in shock she thought. Why was he shocked?

She couldn’t understand why his eyes seemed to brighten. Lifting his arm, Arya soon found the kings hand cupping her cheek, his grasp lighter than she thought he was capable, as if she were porcelain, ready to break at any given moment.

Arya couldn’t help but cringe slightly, leaning away from the kings inappropriate act. She wanted to turn and run, but her feet were frozen to the spot. She didn’t know what to do. 

Panicking, she uttered the only thing that came to her mind. “My name is Arya, not Lyanna… your grace.” She quietly tacked onto the end, the manners drilled into her head almost forgotten.

Her voice seemed to break the king out of his drink induced trance, as her father came to stand by his friends side, worry streaking his eyes. “That is my daughter, ARYA.” Her father pronounced, rather slowly, emphasising her name as if Robert was naught but a boy of 6.

The kings gaze remained fixedly upon her face, until her father introduced Bran, trying, rather obviously, to direct his friends away from his daughter. 

Thankfully, Arya saw the Baratheon move on. Yet, although the eyes of the king no longer lingered, the stares of those in the yard did. She saw the faces of men and women she had never met before turned her way. Quiet whispers were exchanged between the lords and ladies, Arya could only guess as to why.

Arya had been told she resembled her late aunt, many times in-fact, but surely it was only because she had the Stark looks none of the trueborn siblings seemed to. Although Jon carried the same traits, with light, practically white skin and dark unruly hair, his face wasn’t like her fathers. She had decided it was seemingly softer, more handsome she thought, even his eyes were different. While hers where a stormy grey, lightening to a steely colour towards her pupil, his storm grey looked almost purple.

She couldn’t understand why they looked at her like they did, it wasn’t as if she was as pretty as Sansa. No she was Arya Horseface, her sister had reminded her plenty. The reason is that the king is drunk, Arya decided, that was why he thought she looked like Lyanna. No one else could have, she was no queen of love and beauty. 

Eddard Stark

The trip to the crypt was daunting. He stood silently, watching as his friend placed a flower on the crypt of his sister, a woman who Robert had loved but who had returned no such feelings.

He felt guilty, hiding the son of his sister who had run away with a prince to escape the king himself. But he would never tell anybody about the boys real identity, not even his nephew himself. It was too dangerous, nobody could know, he had made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

But even now he worried, yes the boy looked like him, thankfully. But even Ned could see the Targaryen Prince in the lad. He could perhaps blame Jon’s more southron features as being inherited from his mother. But with the likes of Sir Barristan around, it wouldn’t take long to arouse suspicion.

Sat in his solar, taking a needed break before the welcoming feast began, Ned despaired again at his mistake of keeping his daughter in Winterfell for the arrival of the king. 

I should he sent he to Bear Island, he berated himself. Why did he let his wife convince him otherwise? He should have known how Robert would have reacted, he knew how uncanny the resemblance of his daughter was to that of his dead sister.. 

He shouldn’t have let Catelyn persuade him, her idea trumped his concerns. That if Arya remained at Winterfell, she would be able to meet new suitors. Perspective lords or knights who both he and his wife could scrutinise to see if they were worthy.

Robert had been a man possessed, looking at his daughter as if she were imaginary. Touching her like she wasn’t a child of 10, in front of the courtiers, his wife and children no less.

He didn’t want to except Roberts proposal, he didn’t want to travel south, let alone be the hand of the king, but what could he do? Robert was his oldest friend, he was the king, he couldn’t refuse the king and he didn’t want to let down his friend.

Yet Ned was more worried about what the king said after the proposition he had offered Ned. That it was about time the Baratheons and the Starks were joined by marriage. That Ned had a daughter and he had a son. 

Ned had heard about Joffrey, whispers that he was cruel and sadistic, he didn’t want that for either of his daughters. No amount of power they would have gained becoming the queen could save them from the king. 

What was he to do?

Sighing, he got up to prepare leave, he couldn’t be late to a feast he was hosting.

Sansa Stark

It was amazing. The King and Queen at Winterfell, her own home. The dresses and finery worn by the arriving lords stunned her.  
She couldn’t wait to meet the Princes and Princess, especially the Prince Joffrey, he was handsome, the perfect heir. Jamie Lannister was exactly like she had imagined, a golden knight in golden armour. The queen was as beautiful as the stories she’d been told. 

The feast was about to begin, and she could barely contain her glee. The silken dress she wore, a striking green, complemented her fiery hair and pink skin. Her king had told her she was pretty, and not 10 minutes ago so had her mother, before retreating to deal with her sister.

Sansa couldn’t understand why the king had been so obsessed with her sister when he saw her, she couldn’t understand why she had heard whispers among some of the lords about her sisters looks, who she looked like.

She knew her sister was the odd one out, looking like her father, the reason why he favoured her so. She understood for that reason why she stood out. Arya mayhaps wasn’t plain, Sansa relented, but she had no womanly curves, yet, unlike her. Arya wasn’t even a proper lady, she couldn’t sew and had no manners, she may have been able to dance and sing, yet she was scruffy and always dirty, playing with swords and weapons.

It was unwomanly.

The attention was probably because of her dress, maybe. The blue velvet did look beautiful on her sister. Yes that must have been it, and the fact her sister looked like a Stark, Sansa concluded. 

Arya may have been the centre of attention in the yard, but at the feast, it would be herself that would steal the show, of that Sansa was sure. It was then that her mother knocked on her door, opening it slightly, telling her it was time to make her way down to the feast. 

Standing near the doors to the hall, a few paces from the largest stairs, Sansa and her siblings waited for Arya.

Late, she was always late. Sansa wished she would hurry up. It wouldn’t matter if Arya was given and extra hour to prepare, she would always manage be late. Pacing anxiously, Sansa began to mutter complaints under her breath. Robb was the first berate her, “Relax sister, it has only been 3 minutes.” Of course Robb would take Arya’s side, Sansa thought, of course she was his favourite as well.

Another minute passed before Arya arrived. She was was wearing simple dress, yet the charcoal grey wool seemed to make her sister striking: highlighting her pale skin while complementing her dark hair. It was then that Sansa began to understand the reason for the attention her sister was receiving.

“Aren’t you happy I’ve not arrived so late?” Arya questioned her, seeing Sansa’s disgruntled expression. She nodded, but instead thought that perhaps shouldn’t have wished for her sister to hurry, and instead that Arya hadn’t arrived at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... let me know what you think, I really love to read the comments! This is my first chapter with a Sansa POV, since she is gonna be a little ooc, like most of the characters are going to be, this is how I like to envision her when Robert arrives. Id love to hear your opinion but that’s all I’ve really got to say so I hope to see you next week!


End file.
